Canada: Rebirth
by TheRainbowNinja
Summary: "Let me shine. Then I will join you." Some men just want to watch the world burn. Snapped!Canada. Light Russia/Canada. Character death. Gore and Blood.
1. Snapped

A/N: What's this? I'm posting another story? Why yes, yes I am. This is basically about what happens when Russia causes Canada to snap. It might be the start of WWIII but I'm not sure of that yet. There will be aspects of Russia/Canada but it really is not the main focus. Also there will be bloody character death and just a lot of blood in general. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I, of course, do not own Hetalia.

* * *

Canada had no idea why he was here, in his brother's territory, staring out over the water hoping to catch a glimpse of a nation as frozen as he was. He had known that this was a pointless endeavor as soon a as he had thought of it, but he couldn't help but try. He shouldn't have done this, it only lead to disappointment. He knew better than to listen to the people on America's television shows, but the loneliness and isolation spurred him on. So now here he sat, in Wales, Alaska, staring out over the water of the Bering Strait with the Northern Lights tracing patterns in the sky above him. Canada let out a sigh not knowing what else to do now that his journey was fruitless.

"I don't really feel like going home yet," he mumbled to himself. "I guess I'll just stay here a little longer." Canada then leaned back so he was lying on his back in the snow, looking up at the sky and let his mind wonder.

* * *

Russia was unsure what convinced him to travel to the small town of Wales, Alaska but as he stepped off the plane at the airport he had the feeling that something amazing was about to happen. As he traveled through the town, the feeling started to leave him. The people of the town kept giving him strange looks. It was obvious to them that he was an outsider. To escape their scrutiny he headed to the coast hoping that the water would allow the bright feeling to return.

A rare smile crossed his face when he reached the water. The Strait was something that was familiar to him. It was almost his own. He walked its shore, seeing the differences between this side and his, lost in his thoughts, until he saw something odd ahead of him. Someone was lying in the snow. He walked up to the person, expecting it to be an injured townsperson but was shocked when saw it was Canada. Seeing him caused the feeling to return and spurred Russia forward.

The nation lying in the snow looked at Russia as he got closer. A relieved looked crossed his face when he realized who was walking towards him. When Russia sat down next to him, Canada finally removed his back from the snow. The look he gave him confused Russia. It was full of pure glee.

"What is Matvey doing out here," Russia decided to ask.

"Looking for you," was Canada's reply.

This sent Russia into even deeper confusion and made him wonder if Canada was as bad at geography as his brother. He just decided to inquire into reasoning behind the boy's current location. "In Alaska?"

The snow covered nation ducked his head in embarrassment as he gave his answer, "I heard a rumor that I could see your land from here."

Russia giggled when he heard this, "Silly Matvey, you should know better than that. I am much too far away," he sent his companion a small mocking smile then a thought crossed his mind. "But why was Matvey looking for me?"

A look of emptiness crossed Canada's dull eyes; it was then that Russia noticed that everything about the nation seemed dull. "I wanted someone to talk to," this was said in a voice so soft he almost didn't hear it.

When he had confirmed that he actually heard an answer, Russia asked the question that Canada was dreading, "Why didn't you go to Amerika?"

Canada hesitated before whispering, "I did, but…that didn't work out so well."

He cringed as he remembered going to his brother's house, of having him look right through him as he stood outside America's door. He felt weak when he thought about how his brother didn't see him, how he had looked around before shutting the door, having decided that no one was there.

"Did he forget you?" Canada was startled from his thoughts. He had almost forgotten that Russia was still there.

"Then he didn't see you."

This surprised Canada even more. He whispered, "How did you know?"

Russia chuckled and put on a cruel face, "Amerika is blind to most things. I know how he ignores Matvey, looks right through you. It seems that those glasses don't help much," he giggled once again. "Yet it's not only Amerika who forgets Matvey, now is it?"

Canada was surprised to find himself shaking his head.

"No of course not," Russia continued. "The rest of the world forgets Matvey, too. They don't see you. They can't hear you. You're invisible, nothing but a ghost, to them."

Canada thought about all the meetings he never got to speak at, every birthday that was missed, every time his was thought to be America, and realized how true Russia's words were. Was he really so naïve as to have not noticed this before?

"Aren't you, Canada?" Russia's voice had deepened and taken on a frigid undertone.

Canada had a faraway look in his dull eyes as he replied with an unfocused, "Yeah, invisible…forgotten."

Russia suddenly stood up and held out a hand so Canada could do so as well. "People ignore me now, too," he started. "But they still _remember_ me. The great nation of Russia will always be remembered."

Russia gestured across the Strait with the hand that was not holding Canada's, "Those lands will never be forgotten. People will remember her war efforts and the Soviet Union."

Canada protested weakly, "But Canada helped in the wars, too! We were feared! What about the War of 1812?"

Russia turned to Canada, took his other hand, and gave him a look that was supposed to be caring, "My dear Matvey, can't you see that only you and your people remember those times? You were out shone by everyone else."

"But…"Canada couldn't think of a protest.

Russia's face was still trying to be caring, "Can't Matvey see? You're being overshadowed, used, and ignored."

Canada's eyes became unfocused again and his head lowered as he nodded.

The care fell from Russia's face and his thoughts turned more sinister, "And do you know who does it the most?"

"Who," Canada whispered with intense curiosity and the deep need to_ know_.

Russia grinned like the madman he was as he said the word that would break Canada.

"Amerika," echoed through the air as Canada's head suddenly snapped up and his pupils dilated before his eyes closed and he fell to the snowy ground.

Russia knelt next to the other nation to check for injuries. Canada opened his eyes after a few seconds and Russia's breath caught. The once dull nation now owned large sparkling eyes and it seemed as if his whole being gained color and mass, making him a great contrast to the snow around them.

Russia looked into violet eyes that seemed so much like his own, "Is Matvey alright?"

"Perfectly fine," Russia was pretty sure that was the first time Canada had spoken at a normal level in a very long time and his cold heart warmed as he saw the twisted smile on Canada's face.

"Well then go home, little Matvey," Russia helped the smaller nation off of the ground. "And I'll stop by to see you tomorrow."


	2. Gorgeous

Canada awoke that morning with buzzing in his head. He felt as if he was standing in a crowd of people who were all trying to talk to him at the same time. He thought he was going to suffocate under the roar and it was making him want to scream. He just had to focus and then his mind would clear, and it did. He stood from his bed and rubbed his bear's ears. "It seems like something is stirring up the people, Kumajiro."

"Who," the bear looked up from his spot on Canada's bed.

Canada laughed a bit, "I'm Canada. I feed you."

"Oh, right," the little bear then promptly fell back asleep.

Canada found this very strange, not the fact that his bear was sleeping, but the fact that his bear acknowledged him after he said who he was. He chose to ignore it and stretched his aching limbs; they felt heavier today. He walked towards his closet and looked at all the hoodies that filled it. He roughly pushed those aside and pulled his uniform from the back.

"If people are going to remember me, they're going to remember someone imposing, not some lazy kid," he then dressed, grabbed the ratty garments from his closet, and promptly threw them out the window.

"Bye-bye clothes," he waved to the worn shirts as they fell to the ground. He then clapped his hands and went to make breakfast.

When he got downstairs he headed straight for the kitchen and pulled out the things to make pancakes. Canada hummed while he worked but instead of a simple melody this tune was quick and spastic. He poured the ingredients together, mixed them, and had circles of batter cooking in the pan in what seemed like record time.

He was still humming and had just plated his pancakes when a knock sounded at his door. Wondering who would be visiting him at this hour, he scurried down the hallway that would lead him to his front door. When he opened the door he looked around to find no one actually standing there. He was about to close the door when something on the ground caught his eye. On his doorstep sat an innocent looking package. Finding this package strange but not threatening he picked it up and went into his house, closing the door on the glittering outside.

He sat the package on his kitchen table and regarded it while he ate his slightly cold pancakes. The package was simple. It was covered in brown paper and tied with twine, but one thing did tip Canada off as to who the sender was: the paper was covered in drawings of sunflowers.

Canada finished his breakfast, washed the dishes, then sat back down at his table to stare at the package some more. Finally deciding that just looking at the box was going to get him nowhere; he dragged it in front of him, untied the strings and carefully removed the paper.

When he opened the box he saw a note lying on top of wispy pink paper. He lifted the note from the box and the words scrawled on the parchment knocked him into confusion.

_Dear Matvey,_

_I suspect there to be hard times ahead of us. This has brought me great joy over the years and my hopes are that it will do the same for you. _

_Make me proud,_

_Ivan_

"What is he talking about? What is he giving me," Canada pushed aside the paper in the box and pulled out a well-worn, cream scarf. He nearly choked when the full magnitude of the gift hit him. "This can't be what I think it is! This _can't_ be Ivan's scarf! This has to be his most prized possession, there's no way he'd just give it to _me_, but if so, _why_?"

Canada sat at his kitchen table in an almost panic for nearly ten minutes before the doorbell interrupted him. Finally giving up, he wrapped the scarf around his neck in case Russia was at the door, pocketed an icepick laying on his counter in case it was a burglar (who rang the doorbell) and went to see who was calling to be let in his house. When he reached the door he saw that it was neither Russia nor a polite burglar. It was much worse. It was America. When he caught sight of Canada he started grinning like the idiot he was.

"Hey, dude! Whoa, you look different! Did you lose weight? No, wait, you gained weight. No, you dyed your hair! No you didn't. I don't know what you did," America's tangent was already giving Canada a headache.

"Alfred, shut up. I haven't changed anything. Thus I have no idea _what_ you are talking about," Canada was not in the mood for America's ramblings today.

America was now standing on his doorstep pointing at him. "That! That's what's different! Dude, you're acting like Arty!"

Canada concluded that America must have consumed _way_ too much coffee on his journey and thus should not be allowed into his house should he get overly excited and end up breaking something.

"Alfred, why don't we go for walk? It's rare for the snow to be this fresh and the cool air is nice."

He was met with whining, "But it's cold and wet and stuff. Do you really want to walk through that?"

Canada groaned, "Yes I do," he leaned back into the house for a moment. "Kumajiro, I'm going for a walk! Now, let's go, Alfred."

He left the house without locking his door and grabbed his brother's arm to get him to walk through the frozen water that covered the ground, "Geeze, Matt. Think you could ease up on the grip?" America was trying to shake his wrist from Canada's fist. A very red mark was starting to develop on the American's appendage.

"Sorry, Alfred," Canada released his brother's arm sheepishly when they reached the tree line. "I guess I'm just excited to get out of the house."

America looked at him oddly, "Geeze, Matt, chill. It's just snow," he paused for a moment then giggled. "Hehe, chill...snow. I'm a genius."

"No, what you are, is a nuisance," Canada shook his head and trudged on in front of his brother through the forest. He stopped when he reached the clearing he was looking for. America appeared not long after. He found his brother, with his eyes closed and head tilted back, breathing in the fresh air and enjoying the cold. It was then that he saw something oddly familiar preventing Canada's neck from being on full display.

"Matt…where'd you get that scarf," America was incredibly hesitant with his question and started to internally panic.

"Huh," Canada opened his eyes and looked down at the scarf. "Ivan gave it to me."

America spluttered, "Ivan? Ivan? Who's I—_Russia? Russia_ gave you a scarf? Wait, no Russia gave you _his _scarf? Matt…th-th-this is bad. Like really, really, _really_ bad. Like Brussels sprouts and hot fudge bad. Russia's gonna stab you in your sleep or kidnap you or _something._ But have no fear Matty, you're hero will protect you with all his might! I can—"

"Shut up, Alfred," America whipped his head around to look at his brother and a cold chill ran down his spine. Canada's eyes had become intense and he was leaking an aura so evil it seemed to make the clearing visibly darken.

Canada was shaking with rage, "Since when did you protect me Alfred? You've done nothing but ignore me or try to invade my lands! I came to visit you at your house a while ago and you didn't even_ see_ me. How are you supposed to protect what you can't even _see_? But you see me _now_, don't you Alfred?"

America had honestly never seen Canada so angry or heard him speak so loudly. He had no idea what to do with a pissed off brother, so he did the only thing he could. He walked over to Canada and put his hands on his shoulders in an attempt the calm down the enraged nation. "Matty, you've got to get ahold of yourself." The other nation fidgeted a bit but America assumed he was just adjusting to the weight.

"No!" America didn't expect to have his arms violently knocked away or to have Canada lunge at him and stab something deep into his shoulder. Canada then quickly backed away with a grin that held not even a speck of sanity. As he held a bloodied ice pick (which must have been what he was fidgeting for) and swayed back and forth with specks of blood trailing up his face, Canada looked just like a killer from one of America's horror movies. And that scared the usually brave nation.

"Matty, _what are you doing_," America didn't want to resort to pleading, but it was all that would come to him.

Canada's mad grin never faltered, "I'm finally getting my revenge, my dear brother. It will start with your blood and end with the blood of everyone else." Canada caught America off guard as he lunged forward once again. This time the pick landed in America's stomach and was, again, quickly removed with a trail of blood. Realizing that there was no reasoning with his brother anymore, America backed up and prepared to fight. He saw his brother's eyes change as it occurred to him that America was going to start fighting back. He was now plotting the best way to take him down.

A predatory glint was in Canada's eyes as he tilted his head, came to a decision, and mocked America. "You look scared, brother. Did you not know that I was able to be strong? If I wasn't strong how could I have survived while being cut off all these years? You're so…dim…Alfred," the hand that wasn't holding the pick made lazy circles next to his head; an almost drunken parody of the universal sign for crazy.

America was learning so much about his quiet brother right now that it terrified him. The worst part was that he was sure that these words were not lies. Was he really not able to see all these things? How could a hero not see that his brother was so unstable? He was shaken from his thoughts as Canada got bored with the staring match. America tried to catch him as he charged but his reflexes were much faster. The pick tore through the sleeve of America's bomber jacket and into the soft flesh that came up in an attempt to protect his torso.

The pain was really starting to bother America and he was beginning to pant from exertion as he felt his blood seeping through his shirt. Canada was panting from trying to hold back his laughter. He rushed again, but this time America was ready. As Canada charged towards him, America summoned some of his strength and landed a punch across his jaw. Canada froze at the impact a mere foot away from his brother, so close that America could watch his eyes dart around, franticly searching for something that wasn't there. The brave nation flinched when his counterpart reached up, but steadied as the jaw he injured was cracked back in place. He heard a gasp of pain, felt his back hit the snow, and realized his mistake too late. He had let his guard down and now Canada was above him laughing a gross, distorted, painful laugh while he tried to free himself from his brother's pin. It was useless; Canada's height advantage had him trapped.

"Say goodbye, brother." Tears began roll down America's face as Canada held both of his wrists to free up one of his hands. He tried one last time to throw his brother off, but his attempt was futile. Canada raised that dreaded ice pick and continued to laugh. That laugh echoed through the woods around them and that made it more horrifying than it already was.

America was gazing straight into his brother's blown pupils, "Must you really do this, Matthew?"

"I must, brother, if I don't _I'll_ die," then the pick came down with no remorse. America screamed as it broke through his ribcage and tore into his lung. The clearing in the woods was filled with Canada's laughter mixed with America's screams as that pick was repeatedly stabbed into the victim of the broken nation. Breaking bone, tearing flesh, and piercing organs as blood flew everywhere and painted everything near the site of the carnage red.

Suddenly there was silence and Canada still kneeled over his brother's corpse as it dyed the snow around him with the most gorgeous shade of red. He lifted himself from the ground and looked around. When did he stop laughing? When did the screams stop? He looked back but couldn't remember. The memories seemed to lack sound, only sight. All he saw was his brother's anguished face and blood. So much blood. He lifted a knuckle to his lips, licked off a smudge, and regarded himself. Such a lovely shade of red, but it's stained Russia's scarf. He stepped through the gradually widening red puddle and realized that he rather enjoyed the slushy sound it made. He froze when he heard heavy boots approaching the clearing.

* * *

Sorry for the long wait my dears. I write when I get the inspiration and sadly I've had none for a while. Add on the fact the Alfred refused to die and you have yourself a very slowly updating story. You all probably want to stab me for leaving it on a cliffhanger, but it's not that bad. I also have some good and bad news: the next chapter is going to be the last. Good because, no more waiting for updates. Bad because the story is over. Also, is anyone annoyed by the name switch when it comes to speaking and thinking?


	3. Promise

Canada was completely still as he listened to the footsteps come closer. He gripped his bloody ice pick tighter, hoping that whoever appeared would be as easy to dispatch as his brother. He could hear them on the threshold of his clearing, a few more steps and they would be upon him. The cracking of branches and the movement of trees signaled their decent upon Canada's world of trickery and mangled bodies and blood soaked snow. Preparing to fight, he was met with pleasant surprise when it was Russia who walked through the trees.

Canada's face filled with excitement as he flung his arms wide and shouted, "Ivan!"

Russia looked at the blood covered nation and pulled what was almost a real smile, "Ah, Matvey, it seems that you have been busy."

The younger nation giggled and flashed his wild eyes towards Russia, "Alfred is so oblivious. It was time for him to see the light." He punctuated his statement with a sharp kick to his brother's corpse. Canada then pocketed his pick, stepped gingerly through the red slush around him, and approached Russia. He grabbed Russia's hand and began to pull him towards America.

"Come see how well I—." He stopped when he actually looked at the other nation. His brows furrowed and he inspected Russia's coat. "Why are _you_ covered in blood?"

Ivan closed his eyes and played innocent, "You see, I went to find Matvey at his house and found clothes thrown all over his yard," Canada had forgotten about his tantrum this morning. "I went to see if he was alright. I try door and find it open so I look around and find your strange, talking dog-bear, but no Matvey. Dog-bear tells me you left and then crazy, pervert burglar bursts into Matvey's house yelling. So I take care of him to keep dog-bear safe for Matvey! Afterwards dog-bear tells me to follow the footprints and I find Matvey here."

Canada seemed to buy this explanation and even thank him. Russia was fine with this. His Canada didn't need to know that the crazy, pervert burglar was France paying his once-colony a visit. That would not do at all. Canada was _his._

"So what did you want me to see, Matvey," Russia urged Canada on with a pat to his back.

Canada looked dazed, "Oh. Oh! Come see the pretty! Come see how well I did!" He was tugging Russia towards the slush again. When they reached America, Russia almost laughed at the irony. With his eyes forever facing heavenwards, America had died surrounded by his favorite colors: the red of his blood, the white of the snow, and the blue of his eyes. It was too perfect and Russia almost wished he had a way to capture this sight forever. Instead he turned to Canada who had begun shifted from side to side in the slush with his eyes closed. He found this confusing until it dawned on him that Canada was enjoying the sound the liquid covered snow made beneath his feet.

Russia giggled darkly, "Is Matvey enjoying himself."

Canada smiled that twisted smile and looked at Russia with his forever shifting, violet eyes. He threw his head back, his face turning scarlet, and hissed in almost ecstasy, "_Yes._"

By doing this he would have given Russia a full view of his neck but it was blocked by a scarf. Russia had to push down his possessive urges when he realized it was _his _scarf.

"I see Matvey enjoyed my gift," Russia was giving Canada a teasing look.

Canada looked over with an odd "Buh" then started to nervously fidget with the fraying end of the scarf; the blood on his hands further staining the cream fabric. "It's so dirty," he choked out. "Didn't mean to. So sorry. I didn't. How could I? So bad. Wh—"Russia pulled him out of his panic attack by walking over and shaking Canada's shoulders.

"It's okay," he was looking into Canada's eyes hoping that the other nation wouldn't see how _not_ okay it was. He was reining in his heartbreak; sacrifices had to be made if you wanted something enough.

Canada's eyes focused for a moment, pleading, "_Really_?"

Russia stared into those wide orbs barely believing that this hopeful _thing_ had just killed his own brother in cold blood. Then he smiled, "Really." This was perfect.

Canada wrapped his arms around Russia's waist and pressed his face into his neck. He murmured, "Thank you, Ivan," before he gasped and pushed away. He then walked behind Russia and grabbed America's arms in order to pull him out of the stain his blood had made on the ground. When he had pulled his brother a good distance away, Canada returned to the patch of red snow and held his hand out towards his companion. "Dance with me?"

Russia looked bewildered for a moment but decided to indulge young the young nation by taking his hand and giggling, "It would be my honor, dear Matvey, but why?"

Canada's eyes on a starry appearance, "The slush makes the most beautiful sound. It could be the soundtrack to our life."

Canada grabbed Russia's hand and they started to spin in some mockery of a waltz. Their boots made wet smacking sounds and were soon dyed a dark, dark red. Russia could barely believe it; Canada was walking right into his arms with barely any more guidance. Maybe now would be the time "Matvey."

Canada looked up from where their fingers were entangled, "Yes?"

"Would you join with me?" Russia was wearing the best smile he could pull off and knew that he had Canada in his grasp no matter what.

Canada had halted their movements and it seemed as if all of time had stopped around them. His face was a mixture of joy, sadness, and defiance. He seemed to ponder everything in the moments they were stopped, from the meaning of the universe to what his boss had for breakfast last week. He finally looked into Russia's eyes and his face still held a wide range of emotions, "I want to join you, but first let me shine. I will…recruit…everyone. I will take on our brothers and sisters until they all stand under my flag. Then I will join you. My flag will be yours and we can all be together forever. A beautiful, loving family; we will be the best."

If Russia could, he would cry, his little Canada was far more brilliant than he had ever expected. He had never believed that someone would go so far just for him. I was amazing and oh so perfect. "Do you promise, Matvey?"

Canada pulled their hands apart and reached for his pick. He slid the sharp point across his palm until the skin broke and his blood reached the surface. He then did the same to Russia. Suddenly Russia understood that he was serious. They were going to form this pact in the style of the old days. Just as he thought this, Canada grabbed his hand and pressed their palms together. At the same time his brought their lips together and so the deal was made. '_Bound in blood and sealed with a kiss,'_ as it was written in text that no one studied anymore, but it was these bonds that were the strongest.

Canada pulled away and whispered, "Promise."

That was it. The deal was made and it was never to be broken. Canada was to be Russia's innocent warrior and greatest love. While Canada would be forever remembered. His name would sweep the world and some day he would stand at the top. Not quite the king, but so, so close.

* * *

And so the tale comes to an end. Thank you all for enduring the journey and for dealing with the long waits. I hope that this was a satisfying end and that you enjoyed it. I bid you all farewell and hope to meet next time.

Stay shiny, my loves.


End file.
